A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
Yet through all, we know this tangled skein is in the hands of One, Who sees the end from the beginning: He shall unravel all.
To-day is always different from yesterday.
Thoughts must come naturally, like wild-flowers; they cannot be forced in a hot-bed, even although aided by the leaf-mould of your past.
Trees are your best antiques